This chapter was by far the hardest to write so far. I've been an avid fanfiction writer since I was 9 years old, but I can't recall more than one instance where I wrote any kind of scene of combat or fighting—let alone something as bombastic as Malenia and the Tarnished vs. Mohg. This chapter was extremely challenging for that exact reason—as you could imagine from how long it took to write. I hope I got the job done decently enough!
She followed him without hesitation. To a waygate north of the ruins of Yelough Anix. Leaving Elphael, and the Haligtree, for the first time in hundreds upon hundreds of years felt more wrong than she could begin to describe. Each step further and further away from her place of vigil filled her with a mounting anxiety that, by the time she and the Tarnished had ascended to the canopy of the Haligtree, felt ready to burst out of her chest like a Scarlet Aeonia. As they stopped in front of the waygate that would lead them back to the snowfield south of the Haligtree, every fiber in Malenia's being was screaming at her to turn back. This Tarnished is playing you for a fool, her instincts said. Return to your post. Now! You are abandoning your brother!
But she had seen the state the Haligtree was in. She had smelled the rot that infested its boughs, all the way to the edge of the canopy. She couldn't deny the truth, that she had already abandoned her brother long ago—and was only now facing the hideous consequences. And so, when the Tarnished entered the waygate, she followed.
When they touched down at the north watchtower of Ordina, the cold set upon Malenia's flesh like Borealis's flames. For what felt like the dozenth time that day, she found herself wondering when the last time was that she'd experienced something—this time, feeling snow on her skin. The sensation was unfamiliar to her; foreign, even. She only dimly recognized the sensation in the back of her mind.
Despite that, she knew these snowy plains well. So she followed at the Tarnished's heels. When he called upon his Spectral Steed, she matched the horse's trot with her own golden strides. When the snowfall that greeted them coalesced into a blinding blizzard, disorienting her ally, Malenia led the way forwards, her bearings unhindered.
After only what could have been half an hour at most, Malenia and the Tarnished arrived at Yelough Anix, tearing through the inhabitants of the decrepit place with ease. The warrior led his goddess companion to a small underpass, where the unmistakable sound of a waygate met her ears.
"This is where we must go," the Tarnished informed her. "Are you ready?"
She nodded. "Let us waste no time," she declared. "Miquella is—"
Her voice caught in her throat as her heart wrenched. Taking a slow, shaky breath, she let it out through closed teeth.
"Miquella is counting on us," she finished.
If the Tarnished nodded, she couldn't see it, his only response instead being the sound of the waygate whisking him away. Malenia stepped up to it and was quick to join him. Right before her feet left the ground, however, she could have sworn a metallic tang had hit her nostrils, a smell that, in such a powerful magnitude, almost made her shiver: The stench of blood.
And indeed, when Malenia finished her waygate travel for the second time that hour—for the second time in centuries—that pungent odor of iron only intensified… tremendously so. Malenia's face contorted at the overpowering taste of blood that seemed to line her tongue like the scent of scarlet rot had surrounded her at the Haligtree.
It was cold. Damp. The air was misty, though given the stench, Malenia worried it was not mere dew that hung around them.
"Where are we, Tarnished?" she asked in a dark tone. "This place… it's wrong. I can feel it."
"It is wrong," the knight affirmed. "A heinous practice cultivates here. This place is rife with rites of blood."
"And Miquella is here?" Malenia asked. Even just venturing that notion, the notion that her dear brother was trapped in this insidious place, had her stomach churning.
"Close," the Tarnished replied. "We lie at the foot of a climb. On the peak of the butte, the ruins of a mausoleum await us. Up there, at the highest point, is where we need to go."
Malenia nodded. "Then go there we shall," she declared.
And go there they did. Along the way, they passed schools of Albinaurics. The second generation ones, according to the Tarnished. Some let the two of them be, but others attacked without hesitation. Malenia shivered at the sounds of skin ripping and flesh erupting in the middle of combat. Just one of the many twisted curseblood practices that went on here, the Tarnished explained. Their flaming, gushing blood would have made the battlegrounds slippery had the whole place not already been thoroughly coated in splatters and pools of the vile fluid. Further up the mountainside they carved great swathes through mindless zombies bursting with humors and stray dogs covered in exploding blisters. Even without her eyesight, Malenia could feel the horrific, sickening mutilations their bodies had been subjected to as her blade cut through them. This place—it was repulsive, rivaling even the mutations and decay of Malenia's own scarlet rot.
But that should've been expected. Malenia could feel it. The unalloyed needle buried in her flesh shivered inside of her as they approached the peak of the butte, as if it too were afraid. This evil place was the work of an Outer God—clearly, one just as malicious and capable of ruin as the one that had seeded her flesh so long ago.
They climbed through dark caves, battling sanguine warriors, servants of this abominable being, the whole way through. At last, they broke out onto the top of the butte, just beneath the mausoleum's upper floor.
The two of them hurried through the whole of this harrowing place with haste and determination, until the Tarnished led her to a stone lift, not unlike the one outside her resting place. Just before they stepped on, Malenia turned to look in his direction.
"Miquella awaits us at the peak?" she ventured, unable to hide the anxious hope in her voice.
"Yes," replied her comrade as he stepped onto the lift's switch. "But be ready. He is guarded."
"By whom?"
There was a long silence. When the elevator began its ascent, he finally answered, "The Lord of Blood."
"The vessel of whatever deplorable Outer God has contaminated this place?" To think, this wretched deity had its own version of what the Scarlet Rot had made of her… even between the combined force of herself and the only warrior to whom she'd bent her knee, Malenia doubted this would be an easy fight.
"Not a vessel," the Tarnished denied as the lift arrived at its peak, "But rather, a vassal. He seeks to usher in a rule of his chosen idol, and sees himself its connection to the Lands Between."
Malenia grimaced in confusion. "But how?" she asked. "He would need to become a god. The only ones who can undergo such apotheosis are—"
Malenia had been moving to step off the lift before she, and her words, stopped dead in their tracks. The realization hit her with the force of a thousand trolls. Her jaw dropped like deadweight.
"... are Empyreans," she finished, the horror of realization creeping into her subdued words. Empyreans, the select few of the Golden Lineage chosen by the Two Fingers to succeed Queen Marika on the seat of the Elden Throne. Empyreans like herself…
… and her brother.
"You see now why he was stolen," the Tarnished observed.
"... Yes," Malenia whispered, swallowing a hard lump that had formed in her throat. Not once had she stopped to ask why someone would steal Miquella from the Haligtree. All she could think about was getting him back. And now… now her innards writhed with hollow dread more than ever.
"He wishes to elevate my brother to godhood for this abominable deity?" she echoed, in the vain hope that the Tarnished might correct her, that her wits had erred off the path of reason. No such luck.
"So that he may serve as his consort," the Tarnished affirmed.
Malenia could almost feel herself go pale.
"… Consort?" she rasped back at the Tarnished.
"I'm afraid so, Malenia." The Tarnished's tone was dark and somber.
Malenia should've felt angry. Her blood should have been boiling with righteous fury for her brother. And in part, it was. Her jaw hardened, and she found herself squeezing her sword so incredibly tight that it dug into the gold of her prosthesis. But more than anger, Malenia's stomach churned with a sick sensation of utter horror. The hollow pit in her stomach sprouted claws that reached up her throat and burst from her mouth. The taste was wretched. It took all she could to stop herself from doubling over at the sickening sensation.
Miquella—Miquella, her dear brother—ripped from his home, ripped from his family, so that he may serve a god of cursed blood in an arranged marriage… how foolish Malenia had been to let him out of her sight for even a second. How utterly hare-brained she had been to… to…
"W-We have to save him," she said. Her voice trembled, as if she were pleading with the Tarnished. "We can't let the Lord of Blood do this. I will not let my brother be made into the reviled king of this cursed dynasty!"
"You echo the reason I brought you here," the Tarnished remarked.
Malenia's breath hitched in her throat. Amidst the nauseating macabre play before her, she had almost forgotten about the playwright. She had not found this place, no; she had been brought here by a lone Tarnished, a single mortal man whom had not only proven himself to be her only equal in combat, but demonstrated vastly more knowledge of what turmoil had festered under Malenia's nose the whole time—and in complete contrast to any other soul who swore allegiance to the Golden Order, had used all of that in the interest of the Haligtree.
The Tarnished took a step closer to her.
"This is your fight, warrior. I brought you here so that you may be the one to set things right. If anyone can bring Miquella home, it is you. But I'll not sit idly by and wait for justice to be done for me. Lady Malenia, would you have me join you in your duel against the Blood Lord?"
At such a question, the Empyrean's warrior spirit was kindled. Through everything churning inside of her right now, she felt… resolution. Straightening her back, she retracted her sword.
"Brave Tarnished…" she breathed. "In naught two days' time, with a kind of determination I have never before witnessed, you have done more for the Haligtree than I had in centuries."
For the first time in who knows how long, Malenia brought her prosthetic fist up to her chest, placing it over her heart, and bowed her head. A gesture of respect—of obeisance.
"It is I who ought to beseech your aid now," she declared. "Would you fight alongside me, fair warrior?"
"Without hesitation," came his reply.
In spite of all the anger and fear and guilt tumultuously roiling inside of her, she smiled.
"You are a good man, Tarnished," she said warmly as she turned to step off the lift and enter the arena—and at once, it was like flipping a switch.
She could feel him. Miquella. As soon as she passed through whatever intangible barrier lay between this place and the outside world, his presence reached out and grabbed her by the shoulders. She almost stumbled under the force with which he suddenly grappled onto her soul. In moments, a surge of emotions welled up within her as she finally reunited with her brother.
He was in pain. Oh, he was in so much pain. He was hurt, and frightened, and angry, and oh so alone… but now, in this moment, above all else, Malenia could feel the utter shock that filled his young body when their minds connected—and how quickly that shock turned into pure elation. An elation that Malenia shared, feeling her throat grow tight as her soul finally found what she hadn't realized it was missing for lifetimes. Even as her heart ached in response to the way her brother languished, it simply could not interrupt the combined joy of the two of them taking up space in Malenia's mind.
What could, however, was the sound of chuckling from the end of the arena opposite Malenia. A low, gravelly laugh that sent chills down her spine. The Lord of Blood shifted from where he knelt, turning to look up at his challengers.
"Back for more, lowly Tarni—what?" His contemptuous sneer was cut off with an exclamation of disbelief—and as his voice met her ears, Malenia gasped in time.
No. No, it couldn't be…
"Mohg?" She tried to shriek the word, but it came out as barely more than a whisper.
The Omen in question let out a thoughtful, but disdainful, rumble.
"I see you brought a friend," he rumbled, in that unmistakably frail, yet bone-chilling voice of his. "No matter. You both shall fall at the feet of your new Lord."
Malenia took a slow, almost unwillful step forwards.
"Miquella trusted you!" she cried. She could not suppress the betrayal ringing in her voice. "He invited you to the Haligtree so that you might escape the Order that spurned you! He offered you the gift of family! And this—"
She gestured with her flesh-and-blood hand around the bloody palace.
"Th-This is how you repay us?" she lamented. Her voice broke as she did so.
"Oh, do not weep, Malenia," Mohg churred. "My bringing your brother here was a gift of its own! Miquella will sit upon a throne of the Mother of Truth's make thanks to me. He will be the Lord that ushers in our new dynast—RRGH!"
Before he could even finish his vermine monologue, Malenia sprinted up and, faster than even he could react, ran him through with her sword.
"No," she growled. Though she spoke with composure, the rage that boiled underneath that one word made her voice tremble. "My brother is not your consort."
Mohg's rancid, growly breathing met Malenia's ears. The curseblood Omen simply stood there for a moment, hand placed on his robed stomach where Malenia's blade lay. Then, his breaths coalesced into a low, mocking chuckle.
With astounding strength, Mohg wrapped his bony fingers around Malenia's sword and ripped it free from his abdomen like a splinter, lifting it and tossing it aside—and taking Malenia with it. The demigoddess's cry of surprise was cut off when she landed with a loud "Oof!" on the stone floor several meters away.
"Foolish woman," Mohg scoffed, as she leapt to her feet. "You think you can stop the birth of our dynasty? I will bring the whole of the Lands Between to its knees! We shall bathe in blood for eons to come! And you seek to stand in the face of that?"
From the arena's entrance, Malenia heard the soft clicking of the Tarnished's armor as he stepped forwards. His hulking behemoth of a sword scraped along the stones of the palace floor as he approached. He said not a word as he heaved the blade onto his shoulder. In the back of her mind, Malenia felt Miquella glimmer with recognition towards the warrior, followed by shocking realization. Much like the disgusting Kindred back home, Miquella's presence spoke not with words, but Malenia could hear him loud and clear—only this time, her head did not spin as he made the connection.
She nodded affirmatively to her brother in response to his emotions, straightening herself and holding her sword arm at the ready.
"Yes," she declared to Mohg, still working to keep the fury out of her voice. "You die today, Mohg, and your bloody throne with."
And with that, she and her ally surged forwards.
They fell upon Mohg like an entire legion, and he met them in kind. Malenia reached her sword back and brought it down hard into the Omen's side. Much like her first blow, he shrugged it off and jabbed the huge blunt end of his armament into her chest. She fell onto her back with a cut-off cry, but before Mohg could follow up, the Tarnished was at her side. She heard the whoosh as his massive blade soared through the air and plunged itself into Mohg's leg. That much elicited a grunt of pain from him, but still he did not relent. Metal clanged against metal as Mohg swiped his massive spear across the stone floor and into the Tarnished's side; the knight flew backwards and landed harshly across the arena from Malenia.
Mohg whipped around to face the demigoddess as she found her feet. She did not have time to square up again before Mohg's open hand came down towards her. She leapt back just in time before the Lord of Blood could catch her; she felt claws of searing heat barely graze her as she retreated. The needle in her skin vibrated unpleasantly as the heat remained in the air. Malenia stepped back just before the bloodflame gashes could burst in her face, but still found herself grimacing as some of the infernal magic splattered upon her skin.
Brandishing her blade, Malenia looked in the direction of her ally, still finding his own footing.
"Tarnished, to me!" she commanded, before hopping off the ground in a practiced motion. Her sword sparked as it extended outwards, and she hung in the air for only a brief moment before thrusting her sword arm straight out ahead of her. Her blade carried her forwards at lightning speeds and straight towards Mohg. The Omen hastily sidestepped her thrust, causing her to careen past him and land several feet behind him—but he wasn't prepared for the colossal sword that came right down on him from behind.
The cry of pain that issued from Mohg's throat was almost drowned out by the sound of the Tarnished's blade slamming into the stone floor. The Lord of Blood's feet shuffled as he staggered, and Malenia sensed her opportunity to strike. Retracting her blade into a stocky, light sword, she dashed forwards, quickly slashing her prosthesis into Mohg's abdomen. His trident moved to bat her blade aside, but she slashed a second time, then a third time, rapidly flitting her sword across his flesh in cursory yet ruthless slices. Mohg spun to face her, ready to retaliate, but before he could bring his spear down upon her, Malenia leapt into the air, the tip of her blade trailing and tracing a long, shallow red line up Mohg's skin, avoiding his blow. She fell back down with her sword held overhead as Mohg skittered away from her and the Tarnished, slamming it so hard into the stone floor that it cracked beneath her unalloyed gold knuckles.
"Trēs!"
At the sound of Mohg's voice, Malenia felt a sharp, aching pain spike in her chest. Gasping, her muscles tensed, bringing a hand up to graze the needle in confusion—a lapse in focus that allowed Mohg to sweep his trident across the arena, catching Malenia right in her face. Her skin seared as she was wreathed in bloodflame, and she was sent sprawling onto her back.
The shock and alarm that jolted Miquella's heart zapped Malenia's mind as well, quickly reassembling her bearings and getting her onto one knee. Ahead of her, Mohg continued his battle, caught in conflict with the Tarnished. Steeling herself, Malenia brought her real hand up to the needle. It pulsed painfully beneath her skin, and it felt… heavier.
Somehow—perhaps it was her quick wits, or some kind of instinct, or Miquella sharing it with her through their empathic connection—somehow, she knew what had happened. Mohg had cast some kind of spell that invoked the will of this so-called "Mother of Truth'' and set it upon Malenia, only for the needle to soak it up… but it was becoming overloaded, fighting to keep the presence of not one, but two Outer Gods out of Malenia's body. Dismay coursed through Malenia, but she pushed it down with an audible grunt, hauling herself to her feet and readying her blade.
As Malenia rushed back into the fight, the sound of the Tarnished's blade meeting its mark, alongside a breathless cry from Mohg, told Malenia all she needed to know. Raising her sword overhead, she sprinted into the thick of the fight…
"Duo!"
… and stopped dead in her tracks.
She cried out in pain and fell forwards to the earth. Agony lanced through her breast, coursing up her spine, all the way down into her elbows and coalescing in her head, where it pounded and pulsed like rot. The breath left her lungs and was supplanted with hot pain. The needle vibrated in her chest, and Miquella cried out in the back of her mind.
"Malenia!"
At first, she thought it was Miquella screaming in her head, but it was the Tarnished, rushing to her side. He went to grab her flesh-and-blood forearm, but she jerked away.
"I'm fine," she hissed through clenched teeth. "Kill him!"
The Tarnished backed off as Malenia rose unsteadily to her feet. Clenching her katana, she let out slow, tight breaths. Gods, her head was pounding now… Squeezing her hidden eyes shut, she allowed herself only a moment more of reprieve before she jumped back into the fight alongside her ally.
She was hardly injured. That was not the issue. With every strike she absorbed some of Mohg's life force, rejuvenating the flesh he had torn asunder and set aflame. But at the same time, absorbing more of Mohg's cursed blood only intensified the pain that was creeping throughout her bones, tugging harder and harder at her focus. So much was the ache emanating from the unstable needle that soon Malenia found herself letting the Tarnished create openings with his massive sword so that she could follow up, a lopsided inversion of their previous battle rhythm.
When Mohg suddenly unleashed a shower of burning blood down around himself, Malenia was sent stumbling backwards to escape it, the burning pain that coated her skin nothing compared to the feeling of her veins nearly bursting with the roiling work of the unstable needle. The Tarnished, at this point quicker on his feet than she, rolled to the side and retaliated as soon as Mohg dared venture beyond his bloody bubble. Mohg spun to face him, and even in her pain-addled state, Malenia saw an opportunity. Retracting her blade as far into her prosthesis as it would go, she ran up to the Lord of Blood's towering back, leaping high into the air and plunging her shortened sword into his back, crashing the whole of her gold-laden body against his. Blood welled from the wound, flowing down his back and coating Malenia's front, as she threw her remaining hand around Mohg's bony shoulders, grappling him while she worked her blade into his skin.
The Omen howled as his knees buckled. There was a loud THUNK as he jabbed his spear into the ground to stay upright. Malenia pulled herself further up Mohg's back, ready to withdraw her katana and sink it somewhere else, then—
"Unus!"
Malenia's whole body erupted with agony. For the first time in a long, long time, she let out a hoarse, contorted scream as pain racked her. So great was it that she didn't even notice when the terrified dismay of her brother sounded off in the back of her head; if anything, all she sensed from that was another gut-churning pulsation. Her body spasmed under the tormenting ache that inflamed her muscles and pierced her bones, and her hold on Mohg was released. For a moment, she dangled from his back like a tag, the blade affixed to her prosthesis still buried in his flesh.
Then, the monstrous cultist erupted a pair of massive black wings from his back, the emergence of the curseborn appendages pushing at her with such force that it dislodged her katana and sent her flying. She landed headfirst on the stone floor of the arena. Stars exploded in her vision as she curled in on herself, clutching her chest with her flesh-and-blood hand as she struggled to breathe.
Mohg was on her in a second. With his wings unfurled he scooped her up, carrying her all the way to the edge of the arena, where with one grim hand he slammed her back into the crumbling stone wall. Any chance she'd had to recuperate from the pain that writhed inside of her was squashed as the feeble amount of air in her lungs was knocked out.
Mohg's hand squeezed around her throat.
"I expected more from the Blade of Miquella," he sneered, his face inches away from hers. Even his breath smelled of nothing but blood. "Even adorned with gold as you are, blood tarnishes thee."
With punitive deliberation and unnerving precision, Mohg thrusted his imposing spear into the seam where Malenia's shoulder ended and her prosthesis began. Her skin tore and burned with bloodflame, and with the ear-piercing sound of screeching metal, her prosthesis was dislodged from her body. With the tip of his trident, Mohg tossed the prosthesis aside, far out of Malenia's reach.
"MALENIA!"
The sound of the Tarnished's mortified voice made Mohg spin his head around, but only briefly. Turning back to face the demigoddess, he sneered.
"I'll deal with you later," he snorted, then tossed her aside. She gasped as she hit the stone floor, her body still racked with painful spasms. All she could do was clutch at her chest, where everything burned the hottest, where the Scarlet Rot and Mother of Truth waged war against the lonely needle inside of her.
Distantly, Malenia heard Mohg's voice, jeering at the Tarnished. "Well done, lowly knight! You lasted longer than even Malenia the Severed! If only such a talented warrior like yourself had chosen to serve the new dynasty! NIHIL!"
Another horrifying explosion of curseblood detonated inside the tip of the needle. Malenia's throat constricted; when she gasped, there was no breath.
"NIHIL!"
Her throat parted just barely, if only for her to let out a rasping groan.
"NIHIL!"
A final surge of the Mother of Truth's horrid machinations had Malenia spread-eagled on her back, mouth agape and blind eyes open wide, staring at the eternal night sky of Nokron far above. The needle that burned in her chest felt as if it were on the verge of shattering inside of her, and her body with it. Her body was racked with paroxysms of agony, sweat pooling on her brow and dripping down her face. She could do nothing, nothing but sit there and seize, as every sinew in her body burgeoned and burst with rot and flaming blood. The two abominable forces were fighting to escape the needle and infest her body, and it felt as if they were winning. Oh, it hurt. She wasn't sure if she'd ever hurt like this before, even when the rot was at its absolute worst. It was all around her, squeezing her, binding her, choking her. She could barely move, barely hear, barely even think over the rotblood suffering that swamped her.
For the briefest of moments, her throat opened up, and almost without realizing she was doing it, she fought to draw breath. Her lungs felt full of blood, her windpipe clogged by scarlet growths. Still, she fought, battling to wrest control of her diaphragm and pull it away from her ribs. Breathing was just about the only thing in her head that wasn't pure pain right now, and even that was cutting close.
Slowly, like a trickle of water, her lungs expanded, and air leaked into them. Through the pain, she heaved, and heaved, and heaved, until that rasping trickle became a drip, then a flow, and then…
The first sound that Malenia truly registered in her ears since that final "Nihil" was the sound of her own gasp. Air filled her lungs like a crashing wave of water, and with the working of her core, she could feel the muscles in her abdomen start to relinquish control to her once again.
She let the air out, and then gasped again. And again, and again.
The pain did not fade. It did not recede. But the total lockdown of her body, the blacking out of her four remaining senses, the narrowing of her thoughts down to nothing but the pain—those did. Slowly, gradually, she went limp, as her head returned to her. Still panting as if she had been freshly drowned, she rolled onto her side, propping herself up on her one remaining arm.
At the back of the arena, she could hear Mohg and the Tarnished locked in battle. And in the back of her mind, she could hear her brother, pleading with her to get up.
And in spite of all the agony that ravaged her, Malenia did just that.
"M-Miquella…" she groaned, climbing to her knees. Leaning forwards, her flesh-and-blood hand stretched out, and her fingers brushed her dislodged prosthesis. Shakily, she reached out and grasped it, pulling it to her chest as she sat up. The socket that connected to her body was totaled. The metal was bent, and torn, and crushed—there was no way she could affix her sword arm to herself in this state.
But she didn't need her sword arm.
Gripping her prosthesis by the wrist, Malenia felt around for a small latch, seated just underneath the palm. Undoing it, her katana slipped from the arm's golden grasp and clattered to the floor. Leaning down, Malenia felt along the base of the blade until she found its handle—a small wooden failsafe crafted exactly for an emergency like this.
Miquella was truly a master craftsman.
Grasping the handle, Malenia staggered to her feet. The sword felt alien in her off-hand, but she didn't care. She could wield it all the same.
Each step was a massive effort on her part, the rolling pain inside of her lancing up her frame with every touch of her feet to the stone. Gritting her teeth, her breathing labored, the Blade of Miquella pressed on, at long last ready to live up to such a title. Her sword hung limply, dragging along the ground as she limped forwards. The sound of Mohg's and the Tarnished's clashing grew louder and louder, while Miquella grew quiet, waiting with bated breath.
The sound of Mohg's trident, bathed in bloodflame, carving a gash into the Tarnished's armor met Malenia's ears; the blow had him crying out as he was sent hurtling backwards. The clunking of metal that sounded as he landed was not followed by any shuffling or shifting of any kind. He did not get up.
Mohg chuckled. "Fool Tarnished," he jeered, in his scarred, pitiful voice. "Miquella is mine and mine alone."
Malenia stopped several meters away from the sound of spraying, flaming blood and clanging of colossal arms. Her knees were bent and knocked, but she straightened them as a long, slow, cool breath entered her lungs. Prosthetic and inorganic as they were, her lower legs were the only part of her that weren't screaming with pain, and that made it easier to leap straight into the air, her sword held high overhead.
"Mohg!" she bellowed. There was a shifting of robes as the Omen spun around to see Malenia suspended in the air, her one arm holding the sword overhead. The blade pointed downwards, concealing her mouth as she spoke.
"Your dynasty ends here," she growled.
And then, she danced.
Mohg had no time to get out of the way. A flurry of slashes had her sword wassailing on his blood. With near-imperceptible speed, Malenia cut huge, merciless swathes into his body. Flaying his skin. Desecrating his robes. Each slash was more forceful, more intense, more… more feral than the last. A long-practiced technique, one honed through decades of focus and will, was made ugly and grotesque by the pain and fury that addled Malenia's mind. But sloppy and gnarly as it was, it cut Mohg apart all the same.
Mohg attempted to scream, but an errant slice split his throat in two. His words died in his gullet, drowning on the blood that gurgled in his windpipe. The whole floor was wet with the slick crimson fluid, staining Malenia's golden feet and the trailing edge of her robes as she cut the whole of the Lord of Blood into ribbons.
The Waterfowl Dance was over in mere seconds, but those seconds were all she needed. The weakened Mohg was, quite literally, cut to pieces. He was dead before he hit the floor. His massive trident banging against the ground beneath him, vibrating the earth, drowned out the last of the blood bubbling pitifully in his throat. His marred, diced corpse flowed freely; the red liquid pooled around her.
And like that, it was over.
Malenia alighted on the floor with the final flurry, holding her sword out at her side. Her breath heaved through teeth that were barely unclenched. Her sword's tip dipped towards the stone, staining it with yet more cursed blood as it pierced the surface of the pool around her.
"Malenia!" the Tarnished exclaimed. The amazement in his voice was palpable. Malenia's head flicked towards his direction.
"You…" the Tarnished grunted as he hauled himself to his feet. "You did it! You did it, warrior!"
She was silent. Slowly, weakened and exhausted, the Tarnished approached her.
"Mohg is dead," he chanted. "The Lord of Blood is dead!"
For several seconds, Malenia simply stared at him, her body trembling, her breathing staggered.
Then, her fingers fell open. Her sword dropped from her grasp and clattered to the floor—and Malenia didn't take long to follow it. She issued a forceful splash as she crumpled into the blood that surrounded her, her clothes quickly becoming soaked in the still-warm liquid.
"What—" the Tarnished cut himself off as he raced to her side. "Malenia! Malenia, what happened?"
Malenia didn't respond. Her chest heaved, as her hand clutched at her breast. Her head spun. Her veins pulsed with pain. Within moments, it was wreathing her senses once more, drowning out the sound of the Tarnished's voice.
"Malenia!" he cried; his voice sounded distant and muffled. "What… Wait. The needle!"
That was the one thing she could truly feel beyond pain, was the needle vibrating and trembling like a dog in her chest.
"Melina!"
Confusion pricked at the back of Melania's mind. That was an odd way to pronounce her name…
"Melina, come quickly! Get her out of here!"
The sound of a young woman's voice made Malenia stir briefly.
"What should I do, Tarnished?" the voice asked, calmly.
"Just get her out of here! If that needle shatters, there's no telling what kind of eruption it could cause!"
"She is not connected to the glimpses of grace as you are—"
"Dammit, Melina, she's an Empyrean! I'm sure grace is in there somewhere!"
"... Very well." A small, gentle hand rested upon Malenia's shoulder. "Where shall I take her?"
"Anywhere but here! Just… if the rot takes over…"
"I will take her to a place where the rot can cause no further harm."
The last thing Malenia felt before she drifted away was Miquella's distant voice, begging her to stay.